


Speed far greater

by sloganeer



Category: Speed (1994), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-15
Updated: 2008-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-04 08:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. When the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb arms. When it drops below, the bomb explodes. What do you do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speed far greater

**Author's Note:**

> So much of this isn't me, I feel stupid putting my name on it. It's kind of like a mashup: lyrics from one song laid down on the music from another. Thanks to ljuser=unamaga for putting some work into it.

But you have speed far greater.  
&gt; Robert Frost

Teyla falls into a chair to catch her breath. John sits next to her, then gets back up again. He's wired. And something doesn't feel right.

"Everyone is safe, John. Relax. The elevator fell, but everyone lived. We were successful."

He turns around and sees her tired smile. But the job isn't done yet. It doesn't make sense. "Is your watch slow?"

"No. No, we had three minutes."

"Why would he do that? He's losing his money." John tries the chair again, but he just can't get comfortable. He finds another piece of gum in his tac vest.

Teyla shrugs. "If they had patience, what would be our purpose?"

"I don't like it." The building is quiet. Even the shock of a couple thousand pounds of elevator hitting the floor had dissipated. Still. "He's here."

"He could have blown that bomb from another galaxy. Crazy, remember? Not stupid."

John shakes his head. "No, he's here. He knew we were up to something."

She sits forward, hands on her knees. She doesn't like when he lets his gut take over, but she's his partner. "All right. Let us assume he is here. He would want to be moving. The elevators?"

"Passenger cars were stopped. They checked 'em all."

"The freight elevators."

John grins in her direction. Teyla's already on her feet. Sometimes you have to follow your partner down an elevator shaft.

Later, he has both hands pressed to her thigh, sticky and red, but she's alive, the bomber's dead, and Elizabeth says they'll both be getting medals.

-

Mornings never start well. This morning, it's a fuzzy green spot Rodney discovers on his muffin only after he's taken a bite. His coffee isn't quite right, and then he spots 'decaf' marked on the side of his cup. His Volvo is still in the pound, his license still under lock and key, and the university still refuses to send him a car and driver to take him to work. Then Rodney almost misses his bus.

It was a stupid speeding ticket that had him riding the bus. Apparently, cops give you a pass if you tell them you're a doctor, but, when you have to correct how very wrong they are to ask you to look at a rash on their arm, they give you the ticket and they like it, too. And, when some overachiever working at City Hall looks at Dr. Rodney McKay's file and crunches the numbers, that same cop comes by with a smile and a tow truck.

Rodney's bus picks up two blocks down, three right, on the same corner as his coffee shop. He has it timed to leave his rented house at eleven minutes past eight, get his coffee and muffin at twenty-two after, and, if the lines aren't too insane, step out to the curb as the bus is pulling up.

But nothing has gone right yet this morning, and, when Rodney escapes the coffee shop with his moldy muffin and decaf cappuccino, his bus is pulling away.

"Hey!" He hikes his bag up on his shoulder and sets off running. "Hey! Carson! Stop the bus!"

He weaves around the old lady and her cart, knocks into the kid on his skateboard, and is ready to give up before his lungs do, when he sees the bus slowing, easing itself back towards the curb. The doors open.

"I knew you saw me," Rodney accuses, dragging himself up the steps.

"This isn't a bus stop, Dr. McKay." Carson had taken a liking to him the moment Rodney joined his daily commuters. Carson knows everyone on his route, and Rodney sees now the advantages of having a friend in the Los Angeles Metro.

"You're a regular folk hero, Carson. People will write songs about you."

"Sit your ass down, Rodney."

-

John gets his coffee from a place down the street. Black in his own mug and, usually, a chai tea for Teyla – but not today. He has a few errands to run before he goes into the office.

Today, John needs to grab his coffee and go, but gets waylaid by Bob, a big, burly bus driver. John and Teyla grabbed a kid running from his bus months ago and now Bob thinks he owes John something. Every time John sees him, he nods, and Bob says, "Hey," and it's like a lot of the relationships John has here in L.A. There are a lot of people in this city who shake his hand and say, "Hello," because, once, John saved their life or they saw him on the news.

"Saw you on the news last night," Bob says, walking into the coffee shop behind John.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Your hair looked funny."

John laughs along.

"Go easy on the kid," Pedro says, behind the counter. "He was up late."

"Wild party?"

"Might have been." John shrugs. "Can't have been too wild. I woke up alone."

Teyla had been more drunk than ever last night. But she's been on the cane and pain pills for a week now. Last night, John had let her have a beer, and she might have enjoyed it a bit too much. She deserved it. They'd drunk a toast to her, to John's aim, and to the bullet that saved the day.

Bob makes some kind of joke that has them both laughing. Bob, big, and Pedro, high and whiny, but John's not paying attention. There's group of kids sitting in the back, and they should be in school. John keeps one eye on them, while he picks out his muffin.

Pedro behind the counter fills John's mug from the pot they've been waiting on, then a tall cup for Bob. He snaps on a plastic lid and hurries back to his bus, slapping John on the shoulder as he goes.

"Have a good day, kid."

"You, too, Bob."

John gets to his Bronco, parked across the street, and waves as Bob drives past. He sets his coffee and muffin on the roof to fish into his pocket for the keys. That's when he hears the explosion, and he feels the heat before he knows what has happened.

The bus is gone. A phone is ringing, and John knows he has to answer it.

"What do you think, John? If you pick up enough of the driver's teeth, will the city give you another medal?"

John knows that voice. He thought he had heard that voice for the last time.

"Jesus."

"Two years I spent planning that elevator job. Two years, John. You didn't think I was prepared? But I've got your attention now, haven't I?"

"What do you want?"

"The money, of course. Five million. I wish I could tell you I had a loftier purpose, political aspirations, but, in the end, it's about the money."

John grips the phone. His jaw clenches, but he gets out, "When I find you--"

"Pop quiz, hotshot. There's a bomb on a bus. When the bus hits fifty miles an hour, the bomb arms. When it drops below, the bomb explodes. What do you do?"

There are sirens in the distance, and the heat from the explosion that took out Bob and his bus burns on John's neck.

"I'd wanna know which bus."

"You think I'm going to tell you that?"

This is a game. It's the one thing John's learned during his years on SWAT. And they always want you to play. "Yes."

"Smart man. But there are rules. No one gets off the bus. You try to get the passengers off and I will detonate. I've heard the stories about you, Sheppard. Now, the bus is number two-five-two-five, running downtown from Venice. It's at the corner of--"

But John's already gone, and the phone is left swinging.

-

Rodney grabs a window seat up front, something facing forward because the sideways seats make him sick. His bag takes up the space next to him, a bulging monstrosity, but it was free, a faculty signing bonus, and it makes an impressive sound when Rodney drops it on his desk in front of a packed auditorium. He pulls out his laptop, puts in his earphones, and tries to get some work done.

"First time in L.A.?"

He turns just enough to see the young guy in the seat behind.

"No. I live here."

"I meant me." The guy laughs. "That's funny. You misheard me. Is it the accent?" He has a backpack in his lap, and, when Rodney looks again, he can see the bright white and red of a Canadian flag. Just what he needs.

"I'm gonna have to move seats. Reception, you know?" Rodney holds up his laptop as if that explains everything. He bundles his bag under on arm, laptop under the other, and slides into a seat across the aisle.

"Morning," his new seatmate says. He looks normal, but Rodney's not in a mood to talk.

He gets his bag settled on the floor between his feet and finds a signal at the next stop long enough to check his email. Then the honking starts.

He hears it over his music and rips out his earbuds to ask Carson what's going on. Then he sees it, an old model Jeep-looking truck coming up fast along Rodney's side of the bus.

"He really wants on this bus," the guy beside him says.

The truck swerves in front of the bus, making Carson stutter and everyone falls forward.

"Run him over, Carson!" Rodney yells.

"Would you let me drive?"

Up ahead, the cars bunch together, jockeying for position as the road merges into the freeway. The truck is still honking, jumping in and out of the traffic. It goes right and the bus goes left. They speed up and then they're on the freeway.

Rodney sits back with his laptop. Traffic moves along at a steady clip, faster now that they're off the residential streets, and Rodney thinks he might get to work on time. There's no wireless signal, but he can get some work done offline.

"It got to be too much, you know? The traffic." the guy beside him is saying. He stares out the window. "Now, I just sit back and watch the city go by."

"Are you talking to me?"

He narrows his eyes at Rodney.

"Do I know you?" Rodney snaps. "Oh, God. Do I? Did I fire you?" Rodney looks again. "I didn't sleep with you, did I?"

The guy laughs. Rodney straightens and offers a hand. "Dr. McKay."

They shake. "Dr. Henderson."

He sits back, keeps one eye on Henderson and one on his laptop. Maybe he's not crazy after all. Then the honking starts again.

"He's back." The tall one with dreadlocks gets up out of his seat to get a better look at the guy, in a convertible this time, but back for another try. "Guy's sure got a hard-on for this bus," Dreadlocks says.

The whole bus watches the convertible swerve in and out, then pull up ahead of the bus. Then the car drives up along the door, and Carson opens it.

"Are you crazy?" Rodney asks. "You're letting him on?"

"I let you on, didn't I?"

Rodney watches the guy in the convertible pass the steering wheel off to his passenger, get up out of his seat, then jump, barely catching the bus step, and dragging his feet along the freeway.

"Well, I managed to do it without the drama."

The guy looks up from the floor, looks up at Rodney from under his mess of black hair. He pops up and turns to face the bus, waiting for the applause, no doubt. Rodney gets out of his seat with something to say to this maniac.

"Sir, if you could just sit down." The guy holds a hand up to keep Rodney away.

"I don't think so. Who are you?"

He whips something shiny out of his pocket. "LAPD. Sir, please step back."

Rodney takes another step forward with another question before a hand grips his shirt and pulls him back into his seat.

"Let the man do his job," Henderson says.

"And what job is that? Scaring the crap out of the poor saps on public transit?" Craning his head, Rodney sees the guy crouched over Carson. They're talking frantically. He stands up, and looks straight at Rodney, eyes narrow. Rodney sits back, but he's been caught.

The cop holds up his badge again for everyone to see. "Ladies and gentlemen. I'm Officer John Sheppard. We have a bit of a situation, but if you'll just bear with me, we'll get you where you need to go."

"No, I'm sorry." Rodney tries again to get out of his seat, but Henderson hits him again. John walks down the aisle. Rodney tracks him all the way to the back. "You owe these people an explanation. What the hell kind of situation requires a cowboy move like that jump?"

The dreadlock guy says, "Nice jump, by the way," and Sheppard nods in his direction. Rodney's sure he would offer a high five if he weren't a cop.

"Officer," Henderson says. "We'd just really like to know what's going on."

"I don't want to alarm--"

Rodney never saw anyone move as fast as Sheppard, spinning on his heel, gun coming up out of nowhere Rodney could see, holding it steady on a scared-looking kid with his own gun trained on Sheppard.

"Stop the bus!" the kid yells at Carson.

"He's not gonna do that," John tells him.

"Shut up! Stop the bus!"

"Hey!" John snaps, and everything halts buts the bus. Rodney sees the cop in him now. "We're not gonna do this, all right? I'm not here for you. Right now, we're just two guys, having a conversation. So why don't we put down our guns?"

The kid looks frantic--not a good look for someone with a gun--on drugs, maybe. One eye is wrong, swollen and black, but nobody could have seen the dreadlock guy make his move, grab the kid around his waist and pull him down. The gun goes high, Rodney ducks down, Sheppard lunges, a sound, then silence.

The bus veers left.

"Carson!"

Rodney runs to the front, Henderson close behind. They pull Carson off the steering wheel, and Rodney manages to keep them between the white lines, but he has to stop this bus. There's blood on the wheel.

"I'm pulling over!"

"You stop this bus and you'll kill us all," Sheppard shouts, only because he wants to be heard over the chaos. He announces this as a matter-of-fact, and what Rodney sees in his eyes makes him feel cold. Sheppard snaps a pair of cuffs on the kid, offers a hand up to the dreadlock guy, and joins Rodney at the wheel. "Keep us above fifty," he says, quiet in Rodney's ear. He steadies himself with a hand on the driver's seat as he turns around to announce: "There's a bomb on this bus."

Rodney's never missed his Volvo more.

-

They get the driver--Carson--settled. John offers one of his shirts, leaving him in a white crew neck that's already battered and lined with dirt and a flannel rolled up to the elbows. Two of the passengers work on Carson, holding his wound tight with another piece of clothing sacrificed to the cause. One, a young redhead holding Carson's head in her lap, stares up at John, wide, and John has to look away because he doesn't have the answers she needs.

"Keep pressure on that wound," John says because he doesn't know what else to do. He dares a look at the rest of the passengers, all quiet in their seats, but he doesn't know what else to say.

The loud guy in the driver's seat isn't so loud anymore. He's hunched over, clutching at the wheel. John steps up beside him, takes a moment to slow down and figure this out before it all speeds up again.

"Can you handle the bus, sir?"

"Sure. It's just like driving a really big Pinto." He looks up, and John has to hide his smirk. "I'll be fine. Just tell me the plan."

John leans over the guy's shoulder, checks his speed first, then gas and oil and even the gauges he doesn't recognize. Passengers are good (enough). The bus is running. Now he needs a plan. "Keep driving."

The guy's looking at John now. His eyes wide, mouth fallen open. "That's your plan?"

"For now." John digs through his pockets, finding his badge, his gun back in its side holster, but no wallet, no keys, no phone, all forgotten in his truck, itself forgotten miles back now. "You got a cellphone?"

"Of course. You don't?"

"Must have fallen out of my pocket when I jumped across traffic to save your ass."

"We didn't ask you to," the guy says.

"No, sir. Of course not."

"You can call me Doctor," he offers. He looks away, back to the busy freeway when John looks at him.

"That's your name?"

"No, it's Rodney. What kind of awful parents do you think I had?"

"Rodney?"

"Yes, John." Fair enough. John lets it drop. Rodney needs to pay attention to driving anyway. He's tense behind the wheel, still hunched, uncomfortable, and twisting himself out of his jacket. "A little help?"

"Oh. Sure." John takes the wheel, then the jacket. "What?" Rodney's looking at him, waiting.

"You wanted my phone? It's in the pocket."

"Thanks."

Teyla picks up on the first ring. "Do not make excuses, John. I managed to get to work on time."

"Teyla, he's alive."

"Who?"

"Our bomber."

"John, don't--" He hears the fear in her voice, and that's new.

"I'm on a bus, Teyla. Son of a bitch rigged it to explode."

"I--wait, Elizabeth just walked in." Rodney phone looks normal on the outside, but John can hear Elizabeth's every word on the other end. He's heard the words before, of course--"bomb," "bus," "don't try anything, hotshot"--but it's good to hear the words from someone else's lips. Someone in charge. Someone on his side.

"What are they saying?" Rodney pipes up. John waves a hand in his face. "Are they sending back-up?"

"Eyes on the road, Doctor."

On the phone, John hears Elizabeth ask, "Where's John?" Teyla says, "Where do you think?"

-

Sheppard's on his stomach on the floor of the bus, fighting with the panels. "So, who is this guy?" Rodney asks, by way of distraction. "Did you sleep with his wife?"

"What? Jesus, no. What makes you say that?"

"Your hair. Your clothes. Your five o'clock shadow at nine in the morning."

"I've been a bit busy, Doctor. I'm sorry I didn't have time to make myself presentable." He points Rodney's cellphone at the Canadian. "You."

The guy steps forward, eager. "Chuck." Of course.

"Chuck. I'm gonna get a look at the bomb, OK? You take the phone and tell her what I see."

Chuck nods and can't seem to wipe away his highly inappropriate smile. Rodney rolls his eyes. He doesn't have time for Chuck.

He has to keep one eye on the road and the other on Sheppard and his stupid human tricks. Into the phone, Sheppard says, "Teyla? You with me?" then passes it to Chuck. With one foot hooked around a pole, and one braced against Rodney's driver's seat, he disappears through the hole in the bus.

Over the rush of air coming up from under the bus, Rodney hears Sheppard shout, "I see a wad. Pretty big." Chuck parrots the same into the phone. "I think I can reach the circuit." Chuck repeats, then immediately says, "Don't do that. That's a decoy. Classic."

Teyla, Rodney thinks. She must be the brains behind this little operation.

Sheppard is curved into impossible angles, stretched deep under the bus, and Rodney wants to reach down and grab his ankle to make sure he doesn't fall away. He's not so far, though, that the whole bus doesn't hear when Sheppard spits, "Fuck me."

Rodney looks to Chuck. "Oh, darn," is the best he can do.

With no regard for gravity, Sheppard pulls himself out of the hole and back where Rodney can see all of him. He grabs the phone from a stunned Chuck.

"Teyla, there's enough C4 strapped to this bus to blow a hole in this planet and any other that might be nearby."

Rodney doesn't hear the rest. It becomes a low-level buzz under the sounds of the traffic jam ahead. "Um." He looks down at Sheppard, at Chuck, even cranes his neck to see if Henderson has any suggestions. "Officer?" Sheppard holds up a hand, still on the phone. "Dammit." The cars are piling up ahead, and there's nowhere to go. Nowhere Rodney can keep up this speed. "Officer?" He grabs the bus microphone. "Officer!"

His voice echoes with feedback, but it gets Sheppard on his feet. "Dammit," he says, and Rodney couldn't agree more.

"What do I do? Stay on or get off?"

"Dammit," Sheppard says again, his eyes skipping over the crowd of cars and back to Rodney. "Off. Off." Pulling on the wheel, his hands sweaty on top of Rodney's own, Sheppard steers them across four lanes of traffic. The bus pops up onto the grass, scrapes along the cars lined up, waiting for their turn to get off the freeway. But this bus can't afford to wait.

"Would you just--" Rodney shoves Sheppard out of the way, takes back the wheel, and gets them straight. They're on the city streets, weaving through traffic, and driving with no regard for lights, red or green. Now Rodney has to pay attention to the pedestrians as well as the speedometer. "If I'm driving, I'm driving. You get back on that phone and save the day."

Sheppard smiles at Rodney in the rearview mirror. Rodney wants to watch him, keep an eye on him, and make sure things are going to be OK. But he can't see that on Sheppard's face anymore. He can't see anything now.

"You have to give me the driver," Sheppard is saying into the phone. It must be the guy, the guy with the bomb. "Show a little good faith. It'll grease the wheels with the money men."

Rodney doesn't like what he hears in Shepppard's voice.

"All right," Sheppard announces to the rest of the bus. "We're gonna get the driver off."

"Just him?" Henderson asks.

"For now." Back at Rodney's side, Sheppard leans down to check the speed, something he does every time he steps back to the front of the bus. "Get off here." He points up ahead, where the street becomes the freeway again.

"Are you kidding? They're still building that. I can see the construction workers from here."

"I thought you were afraid of hitting pedestrians."

"I am!" But Rodney didn't tell him that. "Actually, that's why I'm on the bus."

"You hit a pedestrian?" Oh, Sheppard's having fun with this.

"No." He gets them back on the freeway, the empty freeway, miles of asphalt for a bus that can't stop. "But there was some question," Rodney continues when Sheppard doesn't turn away. "There was some question whether it wasn't a matter of time. I probably shouldn't have told a cop that."

"SWAT."

"Huh. That actually makes me feel better."

"Glad to be of service, Doctor. Now drive straight."

-

"John! Let's get these people off the bus!" Elizabeth has brought the cavalry and a flat bed truck.

Standing in the open door, wind rushing past, and he knows Rodney's watching him, John can barely think. He can barely hear Elizabeth, but he hopes she can hear him.

"He's giving me the driver, but we try to get any more passengers off and he'll see." The news helicopters haven't let bus out of their sight.

"What do we do?"

John doesn't know. He wants Teyla to phone him back. He wants this psycho's name. He wants something to tell the passengers.

He needs a plan. He needs Rodney to stop looking at him like that.

"Is he ready to go?" Carson looks pale in the lap of a redhead woman who doesn't look much better.

The three of them--John, a Dr. Henderson, and the big guy ("Ronon," he says, finally)--manoeuvre Carson through the door, careful, with John yelling at Rodney to steer them close.

It's a tiny bump, but the whole bus lurches, veers away from the truck. "Too close, Rodney."

"Yes, thank you, Officer."

They try again, and this time, it's easy. John tells him to get them close and Rodney gets them close. Ronon holds Carson under the arms, and Stackhouse and Markham get a hold of his legs and pull him onto the truck. Rodney bumps the truck again, but this time, they drive away free. Elizabeth gives John a wave--all clear--and he lets himself breathe.

Ronon wants a high five. It's the first real victory of the day, and they need it.

"Nice driving, Rodney."

"Of course."

John leans against the driver's seat, his hand finding Rodney's shoulder easy, and John lets Rodney hold them all up, just for a moment. One victory isn't enough. Carson is safe, but John has a whole bus of people looking at him for answers.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rodney shouts suddenly. John yanks his hand away, but Rodney isn't looking at him or at the road. "Henderson! No!"

He can't reach him from the driver's seat, and John can't reach him in time. He turns, and he sees Henderson standing in the open door, reaching for Elizabeth's hand. He sees pieces of the bus fly up and then nothing.

After that, the whole bus goes quiet.

John looks up from the floor where he's fallen and sees Ronon. He offers a hand and pulls John up. "We're fine," he says before John can ask. They don't look fine. Chuck holds tight to his backpack and the seat in front of him. The kid in handcuffs looks up to the sky.

"You're OK," John says. He might be talking to Rodney

"I know that," Rodney snaps back. His eyes don't leave the road. "I know. I heard the blast and I all I could think was--"

"It wasn't you."

Rodney shakes his head. "It wasn't you."

John nods without knowing it. He stares at Rodney without knowing what to say. "I need to check on the bus."

He can't do this today. He walks to the back of the bus, looking at each passenger, making eye contact and remembering each one, even if he doesn't know their names. Each one is a reason he is on this bus.

The Canadian kid looks scared, which makes sense. The big guy (Ronon, John reminds himself) nods reassurance in his direction.

The group of women who were huddled around the driver are now huddled around each other.

He pulls Rodney's phone out of his waistband and calls for some back-up.

"We lost one," he says.

She sighs. "I am sorry, John."

There's nowhere on this bus he can hide. Everyone is watching, listening, waiting for his plan. "We have a plan?" John makes it a careful question, one that Teyla will hear as clear as he can hear her heart beating on the other end of Rodney's superphone. But saying the words out loud won't scare the bus full of people John has in his charge.

"They're bringing me more mug shots. We think he might be bomb squad. I've seen his face, John. We will find him."

"How about I stay on the phone? Just the next few miles." He walks back to the front of the bus with the phone to his ear.

"I am right here, John," Teyla says, and it's enough to keep him going.

-

Sheppard's on the phone with his partner, but then he stops talking. He goes quiet too long to simply be listening. Something feels wrong. Rodney flicks his gaze over the speedometer, then the gas gauge, a motion that's become routine already. The bus is going sixty; gas hasn't hit halfway yet. He looks back to the road, watching for whatever's caught Sheppard's eye.

"Sheppard?"

"Teyla, I have to go." He snaps the phone shut. He crouches next to Rodney and points somewhere out there. "Look."

"What? What am I looking at?"

The phone rings again before Sheppard gets a chance to answer.

"Elizabeth? We've got a prob--. Yeah, I can see it. Why didn't you see it fifty miles ago?"

Rodney leans over the steering wheel, but those few inches don't help him see.

"Fuck," Sheppard says, and the whole bus looks. "The freeway isn't finished."

Rodney shrugs. "Well, I know that. I told you that or haven't you noticed the wide turns I've been making around potholes."

"There's one mother of a pothole coming up." For the rest of the passengers, Sheppard takes a breath, puts on his cop face, and tells them, "There's a gap in the road."

"How big?" someone asks, and Rodney thinks it's Chuck.

"About fifty feet," Sheppard tells them.

Rodney can see it now. There's a turn, then a bit of an incline, a shallow slope, and Rodney could calculate it if he had a pen.

"And I suppose you want to jump it," he says. They'll never make it.

"If this were a helicopter," Sheppard says, "even a little puddle jumper, I could do this."

"If this were a helicopter, you wouldn't have a dozen other people to worry about."

"But I'd still have to look after you, wouldn't I?" John taps the speedometer. "Speed up."

"You're not kidding."

Like that, Sheppard's made up his mind. They jump.

"We're gonna jump it," he tells the bus. "Everyone, grab hold of something."

Rodney turns to look. He wants to see their eyes when Sheppard says the words. Ronon's helping a father and son put their packages under the seat. Chuck's not letting go of his backpack for anything. Near the back of the bus, Sheppard uncuffs the kid who shot Carson.

"I didn't mean to shoot the driver," he says. Rodney doesn't hear what Sheppard says back.

Rodney steps up the speed. He watches the needle tick past seventy, eighty, ninety. They've made one hundred when Sheppard joins him up front, hovering over Rodney, and bracing them both with an arm on the back of the seat.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he's whispering in Rodney's ear. "C'mon!" he shouts and steps his foot hard on top of Rodney's on the gas pedal.

Rodney doesn't see how fast they're going at take off. He ducks his head and hangs on to Sheppard before the bus leaves ground. He counts primes backwards from one hundred and hits zero and the asphalt at the same time.

His whole body throbs everywhere, except for his head, where the pain is sharp and focused. Rodney and Sheppard look up, both at the same time, to check the speedometer. It's falling fast, and Rodney barely gets his foot to the pedal to keep them going without a big bang.

Sheppard asks if he's OK, and when Rodney nods, Sheppard lets him go, but he doesn't go far. He sticks close.

The rest of the bus fills with hoots and hollers. Rodney thinks he can hear Ronon picking people up and squeezing the happiness out of them.

"Hang on," Sheppard says. He presses a corner of his black flannel to Rodney's forehead.

"I'm bleeding?" Rodney reaches up and touches the sticky spot on his forehead.

"Here," Sheppard says. He shucks his shirt, bundles it up, and lets Rodney hold it against his head. "I think you missed your calling, Doctor." He looks back at the where they've come and ahead to where they're going. Rodney looks, too. He can't quite believe it.

"I think you can call me Rodney."

"Why, thank you, Doctor." Sheppard pulls Rodney's hand and the flannel away to examine the cut. "Yeah, you're fine." He rubs his thumb over Rodney's brow, and Rodney lets his eyes fall closed at the touch. Sheppard clears his throat with a sharp sound. "Watch the road," he says, then he's gone.

The road ahead is empty and mostly straight, and Rodney could use a couple of miles of nothing to think of but keeping that needle above fifty.

Even Sheppard's smiling, shaking Chuck's hand, accepting an enthusiastic hug from Ronon, and more from the ladies. He'll be hearing from Teyla soon, and then, Rodney hopes, this day will be over. He wants a shower, then a cheeseburger, and twelve uninterrupted hours in bed. He doesn't know how he's getting home, but maybe the LAPD will offer a car and driver.

-

As soon as the phone rings, John knows. It's not Teyla.

"Nice moves, Officer Sheppard. That busy beaver behind the wheel is one hell of a driver."

John's fingers hurt, clenching the phone. "Are you done playing your games?"

"I'll be done when I get my money, John. Or did you forget why we're here?"

"I'm gonna need more time."

"No more time. No more stalling."

"You have to let me off," John says. Rodney gapes at him. John turns away, but there's nowhere on this bus people aren't watching him for answers.

"You have to let me off. I need to be on the ground--you want me on the ground to tell them how serious you are."

There's a long pause, and ragged breath on the other end of the phone. "Just you, John. Don't go too far, and don't you try anything."

John sticks his head out the open door. Above them, marring the clear California sky, is a cluster of news helicopters. Even with Rodney's driving, they haven't been able to give them the slip. By now, the story of Officer Sheppard and his runaway bus must be the story on every channel, pre-empting morning news and soap operas.

"Are you listening to me, John?"

"I'm here," he snaps.

"This is how we're going to do this." He tells John the where, when, how, but not the why. They never tell him why.

Rodney steers back into traffic when the empty freeway becomes the busy road. His shoulders are tense, and his glances at John come more frequent.

"Are we clear, Officer Sheppard?"

"We're clear," John says and gets off the phone. "Turn here," he tells Rodney.

"What?"

"Right, Rodney, right." John dials Elizabeth.

Rodney turns them into the airport, miles of smooth asphalt and restricted airspace. "What the hell is this, Sheppard?"

"The airport?" John hears Chuck say. "But I've already seen the airport."

"So, John?" Elizabeth says in his ear. "Have you comes up with a plan?"

He lays it out, and he has to keep waving Rodney's glance away and back to the road.

"You're leaving us?" Chuck asks, when John expects it from Rodney.

"There's only so much I can do inside the bus." Outside, a black SUV circles, comes up alongside the bus, and positions itself near the back door. John tells Rodney to keep it steady as he makes his way to the back of the bus.

Rodney finally snaps, "Are you sure about this?"

"Gotta save the day." John steps down and the door opens.

"Fine," Rodney says, meeting John's eyes only briefly. "But don't expect that excuse to work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow we stay in," John says, then takes the step off the bus.

It's only once he's under the bus John is able to put Rodney--the passengers--out of his head. He's got Teyla in his ear, Elizabeth and Lorne at the other end of the steel rope that's acting as his lifeline. There's a bomb somewhere underneath all this steel and rubber, and it's John's job to find it.

"Teyla, you with me?"

"I am here, John. Tell me what you see."

It's a box, wires, switches, and a digital display. It doesn't look like much except for the gold watch, and even that looks cheap. But it's complicated. It doesn't look anything like the standard diagrams Elizabeth passes out every few months or so, the ones Teyla files into the cabinet next to their desks, the ones John studies over lunch, then throws away with his sandwich wrappers.

"It's nice work. Jesus. I might even be impressed if I weren't lying underneath the thing."

"He probably won't use copper--too easy. My guess is a fiber alloy," Teyla says. But the wires aren't copper or alloy. They're blue and red and yellow.

"The wires are covered."

"Yes, John. You will need to strip them. But don't cut them," she stresses.

He pulls the multi-tool out of his vest. "How are the mug shots going?"

"Slowly." Teyla sighs, a sound not unfamiliar to John, but this one is heavy. She's just as tired as he is.

"Hang in there. We'll find him." John gets through the yellow wire: copper.

Laughing, Teyla says, "I should be comforting you. I am not the one underneath a bus."

"You're missing out." The blue wire is copper, too. That means it's red. "I've got it."

"OK. Clip the battery, then find the lead wire."

He reaches into his vest again for the battery. The bus hasn't moved much left or right, not as much as John has to squirm to stay on the narrow dolly. But rocks shoot up from the road and a bit of tire has already clipped John's ear. He twists his elbow the wrong way to get into his pocket, then back to get the battery to the bomb. With one lead attached to the alloy wire, John skids to the left to find the lead wire on the other side of the box. The knot in his stomach tightens.

"I don't like this, Teyla. I think it's gonna blow."

"Collapsible circuit." She sounds resigned, and John wonders how long she's suspected.

"Dammit. Well, what can we--" A chunk of black rubber kicks up and knocks John off balance. He grabs hold of the bus, whatever he can reach, and steadies himself again.

"John? Are you there?"

"I'm OK. I'm OK." He says it over and over, in his head, where Teyla can't hear.

"Get out from under there, John. Let me handle--"

He can't hear what pulls Teyla away. These radios aren't the same as Rodney's superphone. But she's back in a moment with the best news all day.

"We found him. John, we found him. Acastus Koyla. You sit tight. This will all be over soon."

John lets his head fall back. "Teyla, take care of yourself."

"And you, John."

He listens for the click of her radio. He takes a breath, then reaches up to call Elizabeth to reel him back in. That's when the dolly hits a rock and shoots right out from under him.

-

"What the hell was that?" Rodney shouts.

Up ahead, the other officers are waving their hands at Rodney and then he sees: the cable holding Sheppard has gone slack.

"Who can see him? Look out the back! Who can see him?"

Rodney keeps driving, quietly freaking out, and only barely hanging on. He checks the speedometer for something to do.

"He didn't go out the back," Ronon yells. "He's still under the bus."

"He's still under the bus," Rodney whispers to himself. He twists around to see the crowd of passengers near the back. "What do you need?" he asks Ronon. "Anyone got any tools?"

Ronon pulls something long and silver from his dreadlocks and pries up a floor panel.

"Of course."

He can hear the commotion, but he can't see what's going on. There's too many people in the way, and the rearview mirror isn't angled right. "Tell me what's going on, people!" He takes another turn--their fourth or fifth, Rodney's lost count--around the hangar. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Miss me?" Sheppard says, suddenly right there at Rodney's side.

"You scared the shit out of me." Rodney smacks him. "But, no, I didn't miss you. Were you gone?"

There's a scrape on Sheppard's arm, and he's looking a bit dirtier than when he got on the bus, but other than that. Other than that, there's a smell. Rodney smells his hand, the one he used to hit Sheppard. "What is that?"

"Gas."

"Gas? We're leaking gas?" Rodney's eyes go to the gauge, and it's falling. He can see it falling. "You needed another challenge?"

John reaches for his radio, but then the cellphone rings. He answers it. "Teyla, tell me good news."

It's not even noon. He's been on this bus a few hours, known John Sheppard less than that, but, no matter how much he might try to hide his reaction, Rodney sees his knees buckle and recover, he sees John's jaw tighten, and he feels John's hand come down on his shoulder. Into the phone, in a low and cold voice, John says, "I'm gonna rip your spine out, I swear to God."

Then the phone drops to the floor, and, under John's boot, becomes the next casualty of this day.

"Sheppard? Sheppard?" He doesn't look at Rodney. He doesn't move. "John?" Rodney puts his hand on John's hand, tight on his shoulder. "Hey, stay with us. You have to stay with us, John, because we're all scared, and we don't know what to do."

John's grip loosens, and he squeezes Rodney in return. He crouches next to the driver's seat. He speaks into Rodney's ear, the same way he's been offering instructions all morning, but the voice is different. "We're all going to die."

"No, we're not. You don't know me very well, yet. I'm very good under pressure. I'm not saving the world as much as I used to, but I haven't forgotten how. We can figure this out, John." He's not looking at Rodney anymore. "John?"

"You go to Caltech?"

"I teach at Caltech. How did you--"

John points to the t-shirt under Rodney's button-down, another faculty freebie. "Great football team."

Rodney shrugs. "I wouldn't know. Faculty aren't required to attend games."

"Caltech Beavers," John says, thoughtful.

"I've heard all the jokes, thank you."

John steps close, his mouth at Rodney's ear. "He can see you."

"What?" Rodney sputters.

"He can see you," John whispers again. Rodney turns around, eyes wild and searching. John puts a hand on his shoulder. "Eyes on the road." He steps away, his own eyes darting into every corner. Then he stops. He sees it.

"He called you Beaver. I didn't even pick up on it. He's got a camera right in your face. He can see the whole bus."

"What is it? A nine volt black and white?" Rodney snorts. "He can't hear us."

"No, doesn't look like it."

"So, we've got the advantage. Let's use it against him."

That gets a small smile from John, gets him thinking and moving, and trying to get them off this damn bus. Everything else can wait.

-

So they loop the tape to fool the bomber, and, in those few moments of stasis, they get the passengers off the bus. Ronon doesn't want to leave. "I can help you," he says. "You already have," John tells him. Ronon steps across the makeshift bridge to the second bus and offers a hand back to help Chuck, the last, and most nervous, of their weary band of travellers.

"OK, buddy," John says. "You can do this."

But Chuck doesn't get halfway before the bus swerves, the bridge falls, and Ronon just barely grabs a hold of him before Chuck falls, too.

John snaps out, "Rodney!" He's right there with a retort: "Not my fault!"

"You're OK, Chuck?"

Ronon answers instead. "He's fine. We're fine, Sheppard. Now get yourself off that bus."

John waves goodbye, and the second bus drives away. Inside, they all wave back at him.

"All right, Rodney. Time to go." He runs up to the front of the bus with a piece of pipe and a length of rope. "C'mon, let's go. Wedge the pipe on the gas pedal."

He gives Rodney one end of the rope to tie to the steering wheel. "This is your plan?" he snaps. John takes the other end of the rope to the back of the bus and ties it to the panel Ronon pried up to save him once before.

Rodney joins him at the back of the bus, and they watch as John lowers the panel to the ground, watch as it sparks when metal hits asphalt. The bus hasn't slowed a mile.

"This isn't a plan, John," Rodney says, but he crouches down on the small piece of metal.

"Yeah. But it's all we've got."

He hangs on tight. He closes his eyes. He feels Rodney's heart beat faster and his own race to catch up. Then the bus is gone. It happens that fast.

John lowers his hand from Rodney's eyes to let him see the destruction of the bus and the bomb. He's curled awkwardly on John's left arm, and their legs are tangled together to make the most of the small space of the bus floor panel that has saved their lives.

"You gonna get mushy on me?" Rodney asks.

John shrugs one shoulder. "I just might."

"I should warn you. Relationships based on traumatic situations never last."

"Really?"

"A colleague of mine, Dr. Heightmeyer, she's done extensive research. I have the numbers if you care to look."

"Not really." John's other hand comes to rest on Rodney's stomach. They're both sweaty, his hip is digging into something hard, his back hurts, and he smells like gasoline and smoke. But Rodney isn't trying to get away. He turns when John tugs his shirt and laughs when John kisses him. He opens his mouth, and John wasn't going to go there just yet, not in the middle of an airport runway, but Rodney's going there. He makes the kiss dirty and wet, and he grips the back of John's neck tight.

Short of breath, Rodney pulls away. "We'll have to base it on sex, then," he gasps.

"Whatever you say, Doctor."

Half on Rodney, with the Kevlar vest poking into uncomfortable places, the cops running towards them, and the burning wreckage of the bus all around, John steals another quick kiss. There's barely time for that. Koyla's still waiting for his money. John's going to take him down. Then he gets to catch his breath.

Maybe Rodney would like to get some coffee.

-

Rodney's not allowed to ride the bus anymore, and John's not allowed to drive over the speed limit.

"You're all the action I need," John teases, but when he says it pulling up to the university and kissing Rodney in the front seat of that Jeep-looking truck, Rodney believes him.


End file.
